Great Expectations
by Mermaidhuntress
Summary: Hiccup's arranged marriage with a foreign princess might not be what he would expect. A dark evil is stirring in the land and they must face it no matter the consequences. Please leave reviews!
1. An Engagement Party to Remember

_As my first fanfic, it turned out worst than I had imagined, so this is a re-do, as will be all the following chapters. I hope you enjoy. I always do._

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He could see the banners of the clans above everyone's head, but he couldn't distinguish faces. He shifted in his chair, trying to get feeling back into his limbs.

"Oh, the gods must hate me," he muttered under his breath. "Some people end up eaten by bears, others by dragons. No, not _me_! I end up married."

Beside him, on the other heavy chair, the princess inched away slightly, as if the wider the gap, the further she could get from him, no matter that it was a few mere inches. It probably didn't help that he was muttering to himself. Something that definitely did not scream _Crazy!_ Throughout the activities, not once had she even looked in his direction.

He bet Astrid would be glad to kill him, especially after he had beaten her in Dragon Training. He would rather do that all over again than be married to some girl he barely knew and would probably hate when he actually got to know her.

For all he knew, she could be a nasty person, stubborn as a goat, and with the temperament of one.

Even after an engagement of two months, they had barely spoken a whole conversation together. It was mostly "Yes", "No", "Whatever my lord believes is best", and variations on a theme. The entire time she had been polite, but cold and distant, and he had did the same. It wouldn't have gone over well if he had gotten to know her and found that he hated her, and then had to marry her anyway.

The games were part of the engagement celebrations. There had been a celebration held in Scotland, with the Highland Games and feasts. But when the Vikings were to take their turn with hosting a celebration, they decided to run Scotland into the ground. By all accounts, Vikings knew how to throw a party.

After a three-day feast, there was another three days of battle games, of which this was the last. The handfasting, which would be held on Thor's Day, would bond the two clans together. But first, they had to suffer through one last day of war games.

What Hiccup and the princess were being forced to watch now was a mock battle between men from Berk and Vikings dressed as Gauls, reenacting the Battle of Horkheim. All around the ring, people were laughing at the antics below in the dragon-trainer's pit, but Hiccup just slid down in his seat, wishing he could drown in the bearskin cloak and die.

Grunts and cries echoed through the training pit, accompanied by the clang of metal weapons and the smell of blood and sweat. _Ah, the Viking's favored fragrance_. There was nothing else to do but plot and plan. He surreptitiously pulled out his little book and started to write, shielding the book with his right arm as he scribbled with his left. There was really nothing he could do but wait it out. Then there would be another feast and everyone would get ridiculously drunk. This was his last chance to escape before he would be sold to Scotland for a few warriors and some Celtic gold.

There was an approving roar from the crowds and he looked up to see the Viking side win. He quickly closed his book, tucking it back under his vest. Beside him, the princess shifted restlessly, her fingers tapping tensely against the heavily carved armrest of her chair. Hiccup glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, taking care not to turn his head.

He guessed she was pretty.

Nothing remarkable.

She had wide blue eyes fringed with red-gold lashes and a small nose. Princess material. But she had a grim, slightly disdainful mouth. He couldn't tell if that was because of him, the games in front of her, or the wimple she was wearing. She looked about as uncomfortable in that blue dress as he felt in his cloak and full-regalia Viking garb.

Her eyes shifted and he quickly snatched his gaze away and stared frozenly ahead, hoping she hadn't noticed him staring at her, almost afraid to move a muscle. Thankfully, he was saved when Gobber approached. "Time to go, lad," he said quietly, his prosthetic leg clicking against the wooden platform.

He quickly and gratefully left his seat beside the princess and was taken to one of the lower entrances into the training ring. He gladly shed the bearskin cloak and the extra vests and ornaments, leaving him in what he was used to wearing; a simple green long-sleeved tunic, dark pants, boots, and a simple fur vest.

He saw his father step forward, his thick, massive arms outstretched as if to embrace the crowd, Scotsman and Viking alike. "And for the final exhibit of the prowess and bravery of our people, I present my son and heir, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III, first-chosen warrior of Dragon Training."

There was a loud cheer and everyone looked expectantly down into the ring. Hiccup swallowed sharply, trying to keep what little food he had eaten that morning from making a second appearance.

"Knock 'em dead," Gobber said, suddenly beside him, ruffling his hair. Then his mentor was gone and he took a deep breath, trying to calm the hysteria and panic that begging to be let out.

_Relax_, he thought. _This is just like what you do with Toothless. Just with a dangerous, man-eating dragon that can light itself on fire and is twice the size of one of our ships. No biggie. You just might lose a limb. Or your life_.

The grate was raised and he stepped out into the ring with those comforting thoughts stuck in his head. Everyone cheered as he entered into the weak autumn sunlight, lowering his horned helmet onto his head.

He saw Fishlegs and Snotlout across the pit, hanging onto the chains that were draped over the pit. The twins were a little farther away, bouncing with excitement. Astrid stood alone, staring hatefully at him. _If looks were daggers_, he thought, suddenly grateful he was in the pit and not next to her, _I'd be dead_.

The princess just slumped a little in the chair and she pulled the edge of her wimple slightly over her eyes, as if trying to hide from the mortification of marrying a Viking who actually engaged in the brutish acts of mock battles and rough-and-tumble display. _Sorry to disappoint you,_ he thought with a roll of his own eyes. With a body like his, all thin and twig-like compared to his father and every other Viking on Berk, he would never be a warrior.

Standing next to her, his father had such a proud look on his face that Hiccup hated himself for what he was about to do. He went to the weapons rack that was set up and slung a shield onto his arm. With an internal shrug, he picked a small knife from the wide selection.

"I would have gone for the hammer," he heard his father remark to Gobber.

He saw the princess sit up and pay attention for the first time since she had come to Berk. Probably hoping he'd be eaten and she wouldn't have to marry him.

He looked up at the men standing above the Monstrous Nightmare's gate and nodded. The great log holding it closed was winched upward and the dragon burst out, already on fire. It scampered across the chains that overarched the ring, dripping fire burning in its wake.

It loosed a bolt of fire toward the crowd and they, almost all who were Vikings, stepped aside, grabbing shell-shocked Scotsmen out of the way as the fire erupted past them.

The Nightmare's slitted eyes fastened on Hiccup below and it slowly lowered itself to the floor of the ring, its self-inflicted fire flickering out. A low growl emanated from its throat as it inched toward him, its mouth opening slightly, its long fangs dripping with liquid fire. He gulped, hoping this wasn't how he was going to die. Taking a deep breath to steady his already fragile nerves, he dropped his knife. The small clang of metal against stones sounded thunderous in the dead-silent air. He could see the confusion in the Nightmare's eyes.

He gingerly took the helmet from his head and dropped it to the flagstones. The princess leaned forward, her brow furrowing in puzzlement and . . . something else. "They aren't what we think they are," he said, projecting his voice so all could hear him. But he was pretty sure that everyone would have been able to hear a pin drop.

"Stop the fight," his father ordered.

Hiccup held out his hand. He dropped the knife on the ground. "We don't need to kill them," he insisted.

"Stop the fight!" Stoic roared. He angrily slammed his hammer down on the cage and the effect on the Nightmare was instantaneous. Its pupils snapped to thread-like slits and flames burst out along its spiny back, its savage instincts taking over. Hiccup jerked back and fell onto the flagstones as the Monstrous Nightmare reared above him, its maw opening wide enough that he could see the flames bubbling up its throat. Flames spewed everywhere and he scrabbled for the knife. He dropped it with a hiss, and it lay on the ground, smoking from the heat. The skin had been burned away on his palm, but there was no time to examine it, as the Nightmare was thrashing about, trying to find a way out of the cage. Its wings slashed this way and that, its claws tearing at the chain above.

Hiccup dove to the side, gasping when he pressed his burned hand into the ground for support. Sharp bits of rock cut into the burn, making the flagstones slick with his blood.

The Nightmare gave up on the chain netting and jumped to the ground, its narrow head darting this way and that, examining its cage. Hiccup huddled against the wall, hoping it wouldn't see him.

No such luck.

It locked eyes with him, and its nostrils flared. He knew it smelled his blood. There were smears of it all over the flagstone ground. The dragon lurched forward, its jaws snapping at him. Its teeth caught his shoulder, but he rolled away, actually making it, unlike all the other times in Dragon Training.

Then there was a shrieking whistle and the Nightmare's head snapped around. Then it was gone in a flicker of fire and a flash of blue illumination erupted in the training pit. "Night Fury!" someone shouted and many people ducked and ran, scattering away from the training pit. A lithe black shadow pounced on the chain cage and tore through it to get into the pit.

"Toothless!" Hiccup shouted. The black dragon crouched over Hiccup, snarling and spitting. "Come on, bud!" Before the Viking warriors could approach with their spears and nets, Hiccup swung up into the saddle and the Night Fury leaped over their heads.

The princess was leaning over the railing on the canopied platform, her eyes wide and excited as she watched them. This was the most response he had seen in her since the day he had met her, the day their arranged marriage had been announced.

But Hiccup couldn't think any more before Toothless launched into the sky and headed toward Raven's Point and their secret cove.


	2. Aftermath

Don't be angry with me. I already had most of this typed up Before. So I found it cruelly ironic when I got into an accident a few days after I redid the first chapter. I was writing everything out in a notebook in the hospital, because they wouldn't give me a laptop. Have fun!

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They landed roughly and Hiccup slid off the saddle with a gasp of pain. The Nightmare's teeth had gouged out a rather large amount of his arm, and his whole sleeve and part of his tunic was saturated with blood. He felt dizzy, but his mind was clear enough to realize that he should stop the bleeding. He pulled in another shuddering breath as he pulled his torn, blood-soaked sleeve away from the wound. It pulled at the wound, since some of the blood had dried to his skin and the fabric. To keep from crying out, he bit his lip until it bled.

Toothless gave him a worried look, keening slightly. "Oh, it's all right, bud," he said in a falsely cheerful voice, suppressing the urge to cry. "It's just like all the other times at the forge." He winced as he tried to move his arm. "Just need a f-few . . . bandages." It was agony just pulling his spare tunic from his saddlebag. It took him even longer to rip it up, with only one arm working. Every move was a stab of pain. It felt like the time he had grabbed a red-hot poker by mistake.

Sitting gingerly down on a rock, he examined the bite, trying not to gag. The flesh around the edges looked like they had been cauterized. But the middle looked anything but. The rents were jagged and he saw dark tendrils under the skin of his shoulder. "You're kidding," he said aloud in disbelief. "They have venomous teeth?"

Toothless perked up at that. He sniffed the wound, his luminous green eyes narrowing. Then he started swabbing the bite with his tongue.

"Whoa! Ow!" Hiccup jerked away, hissing at the pain that little movement started. Toothless butted him in the chest and stared at him with narrowed eyes. The dragon's nose twitched in irritation as he gave a low growl.

Hiccup could just imagine what he was thinking. _Hold still, you idiotic human_.

His breath hissed between his teeth, but he managed to do that. "You got it, bud. At least you know what you're doing." But he caught sight of the saddle. "Aw, come on." One of the wires had snapped. Hiccup presumed it was from when Toothless had clawed his way through the chains. The sharp pieces of metal must have sheared through the thinner wire. There was no way he would be able to make another one if his arm was as injured as it felt. There was no one else who would forge it for him without asking questions and nosing about. And since he was mostly left-handed, there was no way he'd be able to make any repairs.

It felt disgusting as the dragon smeared his spit all over Hiccup's shoulder and he shuddered and looked the other way. Spears of pain lanced through his arm and chest.

Hoping for a distraction, he took the time to examine his hand. The burn was smaller than he had believed, but still hurt like Odin' spear. The skin had peeled away and shreds hung from his palm. It was still red and angry, and blood had dried all over his fingers, looking like he had dunked it in a vat of the stuff. Even if he had wanted (which he didn't) he couldn't have moved his hand. There was something wrong with his fingers. And his wrist.

Toothless finished swabbing his arm clean, then sat back on his haunches with a satisfied nod. Hiccup slowly opened his eyes one at a time, then stared in amazement as the dark tendrils receded a little. "Wow. Venomous teeth and healing saliva. Who would have thought?" It still hurt like a firebrand pressed to his skin, but the poison was seeping away. He slowly bound the wound with several strips of his old tunic, tying it carefully in place, which was painfully hard to do, with only one hand.

"I have to get back, otherwise I'll bleed to death for lack of care." His arm had almost instantly soaked through the bandage, but at least it wasn't gushing all over the place like it had been when they had first landed.

What if he died on the way to the village? Would they even find his body? Scavengers would pick him clean in no time, he was so thin. He felt his heart flop into his stomach with a sick splash. "How am I going to get back? Oh gods, why me? I have to get back before I, I, I don't know. Die?" Toothless watched him worriedly, his luminous green eyes tracking his movements.

"Oh, no. Oh, nonononono." He jumped up and immediately regretted it, as blood rushed into his numb legs and his arm protested in the most painful way possible. He staggered slightly, and Toothless was there under his hand, supporting him. He looked dizzily at the black dragon. "How am I going to explain this all to him? We can't leave now. You're tail doesn't work, and my arm doesn't work, so there is no way we're going to get off this gods-forsaken chunk of rock without me getting married." He groaned in frustration. "I swear, the gods have a perverse sense of humor. If it weren't for bad luck, I'd have no luck at all. Stupid, _stupid_—"

He was just thankful that there was an easy way into the cove, instead of having to climb the rock wall.

By the time had had returned to the village, the lanterns had been lit and hung out, as night was fast approaching. He still couldn't move his hand, and he was beginning to panic. He couldn't feel his arm, but there was no venom in his system anymore, the worst thought automatically came to mind.

He had seen amputated limbs. Among the Vikings of Berk were a few who had lost a leg or an arm to a fishing accident, or a tree falling on them. He had always been pretty sure that they embroidered their tales, exaggerating the hacking, sawing off of the limb and the pain to make a better story, but now he sincerely hoped it wasn't true.

"Son!" He turned slightly to find his father running toward him, a torch in one ham-sized fist. Several more Vikings were close behind, all bearing torches. They all wore identical expressions of disbelief and gladness when they caught sight of him. He realized with a start that they were worried about _him_.

"Where were you?" Stoick cried, his face paling when he saw the blood soaking Hiccup's clothing.

"The, uh, the dragon, yes, the dragon, um . . . caught me and flew off with me to some . . . cliff, thing. It, uh, tried to eat me, as you see," he said, gesturing to his wounded arm, wincing at the movement. "I fought it off and . . . and-" The pain became too intense and he blacked out.


	3. The Treaty

Hiccup stared down at the parchment that had been set before him. On it were the terms of the peace treaty. The tiny script made his head ache if he concentrated on it for too long. So he ended up looking at all the people in the Great Hall, surrounding the circular table in the center. To his right sat his father, massive in his bearskin cloak. He had set his helm to one side for this meeting. Hiccup thought it made his head look smaller, his red hair braided back in a bundle at the nape of his neck.

It had been a few days since Gothi had stitched him up, thought it still hurt like nothing could describe. There had been two more claw marks the Nightmare had left on him, lower on his left side. He couldn't move all too much, but when he did, he had to do so smoothly and without any jerking, which was quite difficult for someone as clumsy as him.

Hiccup slowly focused on what they were talking about. They had been going over each and every term of the marriage contract and the peace treaty for the past hour now, and Hiccup felt like dropping dead from boredom.

"—and in exchanged for it, we will always be ready to serve in any battle you would need us for. As long as it does not contain any of Berk's chief trading allies, we are content to fight any you believe to have wronged you."

King Fergus nodded. "If the agreement is well-met, we will accept it as a binding contract between us."

They grasped forearms, equally huge men binding themselves to an oath their people would hold for centuries. Stoick looked down at his son. "You will need to do this one day for your own people, Hiccup," he said warningly. "It's best if you learn these things now, and not while you're trying to negotiate for peace in the middle of a war."

He smiled uneasily, hoping they wouldn't bring up _that_ . . . again. The war was all they were talking about. But he never really understood _who_ they were going to be fighting. Was it the Irish? The Gauls? The Icelandic barbarians? Other Scotsmen? No one was telling, and he was starting to think that no one really knew either.

He was handed the quill and told to sign at the bottom of the piece of parchment, as he was the heir, the next in line to be chief, and therefore had a decision in the terms of the peace treaty. The marriage contract itself was another matter entirely, and he dreaded seeing that harmless-looking piece of calfskin. He took the quill with his right hand, since his left had been wrapped in a tight sling, tied to his body to keep it from swinging in the way.

Gothi had believed that he might recover the use of his arm, judging from the way it was healing. When they had first brought him to the elderwoman, she had said that it was a miracle that he was still alive, losing that much blood, not to mention walking all the way back to Berk. Everyone believed it was a sign from the gods.

At the bottom of the peace treaty, Hiccup laboriously scratched out his name in the runes used by his people. Fergus was looking down at him with a faintly approving smile. But Hiccup noticed the puzzled look on his face as he turned away.


	4. The Other Side

_Sorry the last chapter was so short, but here's a slighter longer one! It's slightly difficult typing with one arm in a sling, so my brother's typing this for me. I swear, this'll start getting interesting in a chapter or two(or three, depending). As always, enjoy!_

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The finishing of the treaty took another two hours, with all the fine print and little details that had to be worked on, otherwise the Scots and the Vikings would find _some_ way of picking fights, even though they were unified. When he finally escaped the Great Hall, he ran home, grabbed his book and charred stick, and made his way to their cove.

Then he was gone from the village, into the dense, dark forest of Berk. The quickest way to the cove was by the shoreline, and he headed that direction, guided by the sunlight shimmering on the water. As he ran, he thought.

It had been almost two week after he had gotten injured. If his arm healed as fast as it was, right now, he might be able to fix Toothless' tail at the risk of opening his old injury. After all, the handfasting was only a week away, and he had no intention of being there.

Stoick had surprisingly accepted his son's tall tale of being snatched up by the dragon and taken to a cove to be eaten. Hiccup had 'driven off the monster' with his 'well-known Dragon-Training skills', and even being injured in the fight with a wound as evidence.

He was surprised that his father, of everyone, actually believed that far-fetched of a lie. Hiccup guessed that it had a lot to do with his winning Dragon Training. Everyone thought that he had the guts to kill a dragon. Because if he hadn't had that reputation and _some_ proof of the story, he would have been tied to a mast and shipped off, for fear he had gone mad.

_Well, of course Dad would do that. It's an embarrassment in and of itself that he has me_, he thought acidly.

He ducked under a fallen tree, careful of moving his arm, and paused.

The bluff he stood on overlooked Berk's shoreline, far below. It was all thundering surf and monstrous boulders that would crush a ship to pieces if the crew was stupid enough to moor it there. But there _was_ a ship, a small one, far out. It didn't look like any of the Viking ships. It had the same structure, but . . .

He squinted his eyes against the glare of the sun on the sea, trying to make out any markings. If he didn't know any better, he would think that the design was Geatish.

But what was a Geatish ship doing near Berk? The Geats were on the mainland, far to the east, and never came this far out into the ocean.

It was probably a trading ship caught off-guard by the currents of the water. He adjusted his sling and resumed he trek.

"You still don't have your tail fixed, I still don't have the use of my arm, and I still have to marry her. I already signed away my freedom."

"Well?" He looked at the dragon expectantly. They had been lying low in the cove for the entirety of the day. Toothless lounged on a rock outcrop, staring longingly down into the water at the fish. The dragon had seemed rather twitchy and nervous the whole day, always jumping at small, unexpected sounds.

"What am I going to do _this_ time?" Hiccup dropped an arm across his eyes and groaned. "It was actually a nice change from his normal disappointed scowl. _But_, I guess I'll just have to forget about _that_ vacation."

Toothless's head had snapped around and he was staring up at the edge of the cove, his nostrils flaring as he scented the breeze. "Odin's beard. Why are you so jumpy? You've been like that all day-" There was a scrabbling sound up above among the rocks and Hiccup sat up, instantly alert, his words dying on his lips.

Hiccup followed his gaze and stared in shock, his eyes bugging slightly.

The princess was standing above among the mossy boulders and gazing about in wonder. Her immaculate blue silk dress was caked with black mud and torn as if she had been crawling around in the dirt for hours.

She grabbed an exposed tree root and inched her way down to the cove's floor, expertly grabbing at miniscule outcroppings. She jumped the last six feet, landing lightly and gracefully. Hiccup wasn't certain how to deal with this situation. What would she say about him and his dragon?

She looked like she was used to roaming the woods, but she was a _princess_. Where would a princess learn how to climb cliffs like that?

She had come closer, turning in circles and staring up at the natural stone walls of the cove, the vines draping the trees high above. A flock of birds soared over the opening, the sound of their wings soft and distant, as if they didn't exist in the world within these walls.

"I can't believe this place! It's _beautiful_!"

It was the first time he had heard her speak directly to him in such a nice voice and the change in her tone from the cold, distantly polite to now was extremely drastic. She was practically jumping up and down with excitement. A lock of her hair had escaped the wimple and fallen in her face. It was red. Red as autumn leaves, red as sunsets, red as dragon-fire.

She blew it out of her face in annoyance, but it kept falling back. Finally, she just snatched the circlet off and undid the wimple. Her mass of hair was everywhere, curls springing every which way and frizzy in the extreme. But it was . . . pretty. Beautiful, even.

It suited her.

Her eyes lighted as they settled on Toothless. He hadn't moved from the outcrop, but was eyeing her with extreme interest.

Hiccup cringed, waiting for the inevitable scream.

But she merely walked closer, her eyes wide and curious. Toothless hopped off the rock, but didn't make another movement.

"I can't believe you actually tamed a dragon!" she laughed. The dragon inched closer, his green eyes wary, but curious. She held out a hand.

Then Toothless was nuzzling her side while she petted the large black dragon. Hiccup stared in disbelief, his mouth hanging open. She suddenly looked up at him. His face burning in embarrassment, his shut his mouth with a snap. She laughed, her eyes bright with animation. "This is your real world, isn't it?" she asked. "This where you get to be yourself."

"I, uh . . . yeah? Wait, what?"

She looked down at Toothless. His eyes had closed as she had scratched him, and there was a deep rumbling sound Hiccup had never heard before coming from his dragon. Only then did Hiccup realize that the dragon was purring. "I only get to be myself when I'm out in the forest with me horse, Angus. People expect me to 'strive for perfection.'" She made air-quotes with her fingers in an exasperated way. "Least, that's what my mum wants," she huffed.

She flopped onto the ground, all traces of the cold, distant princess he had known completely gone by now. Toothless shifted his head until it was on her lap. She continued stroking the dragon, as if he were one of her father's wolfhounds. Hiccup slowly came closer, not sure if her interest included him as well. But the smile she gave him was just for him. It was actually kind of . . . shy.

She took a deep breath and looked down at the dragon in her lap. "I was expecting to marry a big, sweaty, hairy Viking with a braided beard and a drinking problem. But you . . . you were a pleasant surprise." She looked at him out of the corner of her eye.

He gave a short bark of a laugh, slightly stunned. "That's the first time someone's ever said _that_," he said. "Usually, it's 'Hiccup, get inside.' 'You went wrong by showing up.' 'You've made plenty of marks. All in the wrong places.'" He had always been good at imitating people's voices, and he used Gobber's as an example. She laughed at his imitation and he smiled half-heartedly. But then it faded. He bit his lip, wondering how much to tell her. After all, he barely knew her.

"I was always the village screw-up. People blamed me for everything." He started toying with a stick on the ground. "And I was expecting I would have to marry a fat, redheaded, tartan-wearing woman, and I got _you_." He suddenly realized how insulting that sounded and furiously backpedalled. "But I, I like the hair. I mean, I-I really, uh "

She actually didn't seem to mind his mental floundering. She picked up a strand and examined it disinterestedly. "It looks like me dad's," she said with a vague shrug. "I never thought it was pretty."

"It looks like dragon-fire." It just popped out of his mouth and he flushed, furiously hoping he could eat his words. But of course it was too late. Like everything else he did. Too much, too late.

"Dragon-fire? Like what that big dragon was spewing around?" Her nose wrinkled. Hiccup bit his lip and looked everywhere but her. She probably thought it was a disgusting comparison. "No one's ever said that about my hair before." Her voice was soft, but Hiccup tensed. He knew he had said the wrong thing. Again.

He peeked at her out of the corner of his eye, holding his breath. But she looked at him seriously, with no dislike or disgust in her expression. "No one's ever complimented me before."

He surprised. Not because of what she had said, but because of her reaction. "Really? I, uh, well, you're not what I really expected, but, you know, you're a lot nicer about it. One girl I know would simply break my arm and then jab me in the stomach with her ax handle." He mentally cringed as he remembered one really bad day in the training ring. Astrid had _not_ been a happy girl.

"But you're different."

"Different good? Different bad?" she asked nervously.

"Different good, definitely," he added hastily.

She looked down at the dragon on her lap, as if uncomfortable meeting his eyes. "Not many people mean that. I know I'm a handful, but I try . . . _so hard_."

He leaned back on his arms, looking down at the grass. She shifted beside him, her hands pausing on Toothless's scales.

"You're much nicer than I expected," she said slowly. "You like animals, you're funny, you're not pretentious or stuffy." She reached out and took his hand. "I'm glad that, of all people, I was forced to marry you," she said with a shy smile.

He felt a responsive smile creep onto his face, and he didn't feel awkward, or useless, or clumsy. They sat there in a peaceful silence with their fingers still entwined between them and Toothless sleeping on the princess's lap.

He could definitely see a future with her.


	5. The Lesson

_Christmas is fast approaching and I probably will not be able to post during the rest of this month, what with all the craziness that seems to come with the season. :D_ _ But, as always, I hope you enjoy and review! Merry Christmas!_

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Her name was Merida.

He found it strange that he had never thought of her as a person before that day in the cove. He found it strange that he never even thought of what her _name_ might be. She had been cold and distant, but as her true self, she was bright and . . . _alive_. It was a very disconcerting feeling, and right now, he honestly didn't know _what_ he was feeling.

The afternoon was slowly bleeding away, the sky a clear golden amber, the clouds wisps of flame. They were sitting against a boulder in the cove, which was bathed in the warm golden light.

"I honestly didn't know how my dad was going react," he said, running his fingers through his hair. "I think I was expecting him to disown me and lock up Toothless, or kill him." His eyebrows rose in disbelief. "But he didn't." Merida, sitting next to him, was picking apart a twig with her fingers. Shredded bark was littered over her skirt, snagging on the plain blue wool.

"So what are you thinking of doing?" Her voice was reasonable, calm. He knew he would need that in the future. A lot.

He puffed out his cheeks. "No idea. I've never really been known for my fore-planning. Ever. All I can hope is that Toothless is never discovered again." She leaned her head on her knees, trying to stifle a yawn. This was the fourth time that day he had brought the subject up.

"If you're smart about it, they'll never even know he's there," she said, tossing the mutilated twig out onto the packed ground. No matter how many times she made the argument, he thought of something wrong that could happen.

"I know. But that's the problem. Every time I get into any life-or-death situations, he's always going to find me and try to save me." He let his head drop back onto the boulder with an audible _thump_.

"What should I do? Remove his tail every time I leave to make sure he can't get out? He'll get out there eventually. I mean, look how he came to me that last game . . ." His voice trailed off despondently. She rolled her eyes and picked leaves and bits of bark from her skirt. He had not seen the blue silk dress since the last day of games, and he knew that the most likely place it was now was in someone's fire pit, charred to bits of ash.

She stood and walked to the edge of the water and stared down at the fish, thinking. There were the peaceful sounds of birds in the trees and the gentle swishing of the water. "What if you brought him to . . . Scotland?" She glanced over her shoulder at him, one eyebrow raised.

His own rose in surprise. "What? Scotland? But "

"Well, Scotland is much larger than Berk, and almost no one lives there, except for a few clans. He could hide in the forest." She finally faced him fully, her arms crossed stubbornly. "And anyway, where are we going to live once we're married? Honestly, I don't want to spend the rest of my life on this isolated chunk of rock in dragon-infested waters for the rest of my life."

Hiccup stood and came to stand beside her, his hands on his hips. He stared out over the water and took a deep breath. It was a good idea, but . . . "I honestly don't know what to think," he said helplessly. She made a frustrated sound and gave him an unimpressed look.

"You, well, I, uh . . . Wait, what? What's that look supposed to mean?"

"You don't know what to think? You've been _over_-thinking everything. What is your first priority?"

He hesitated and glanced at her, a frown on his face. ". . . Toothless."

"Of _course_," she said, like that was obvious. "So . . ."

"Soooooo, what?"

She flung her arms skyward. "Blessed Brìghde give me patience! Hiccup, you know, you said it yourself, that Toothless is going get out there eventually." She grabbed his shoulders and forced him to look her square in the face. "You need to protect him, and therefore, if you leave him here, they _will kill him_, and they may even kill you."

"But that won't happen."

She released him and ran a hand through her hair, tangling it even worse. "You are hopeless, you know that, don't you?"

He grinned crookedly, not entirely certain if that was supposed to be an insult. She continued. "And if this war is going to happen soon, it would be best to have your pet with you, instead of on Berk."

"He's not a pet. Are you, bud?" The dragon glanced over at her, his eyes narrowing.

She flung up her hands. "Fine! He's not a pet."

Toothless had followed Hiccup and his tail hit the back of Hiccup's legs, pushing him forward. Merida snorted with laugher as he fell into the water. He thrashed around, his wet hair straggling into his eyes and blinding him. Sputtering, he slogged out of the lake and tried to dry himself off. Merida was still howling with laughter and Toothless made a series of clicking sounds, his luminous green eyes narrowed to slits as he laughed.

"You should have seen your _face_!" she managed to gasp out. Her arms were wrapped around her middle and she was leaning against the dragon's side. "Your eyes bugged out so _much_ . . . You looked like a fish!"

Hiccup raked his soaking hair out of his face and looked down at his clothing with a disgruntled expression. "Never mind. He is definitely _not_ my first priority. Ungrateful lizard," he muttered at the dragon as he tried squeezing water out of his tunic.

Smirking at Hiccup's discomfort, Merida rubbed the dragon's forehead, his eyes half-closing. She knew that Toothless had a wicked sense of humor and a mischievous personality that reminded her disturbingly of her brothers.

After spending over a week in both their company, she had grown closer with the dragon and the boy. In fact, Hiccup was a much closer friend than some of the young people her age at Castle DunBroch had been. He was easily her best friend, with Toothless a close second.

Hiccup finally gave up the long-lost battle on his sopping clothes and approached the two. "I swear I've been replaced," he said. Merida rolled her eyes. Toothless wandered away from them, stretching like a cat. Merida glanced at Hiccup out of the corner of her eye, then burst into laughter again.

"You just look so . . ." His eyes narrowed and he glared at her, but the effect was ruined by his sopping hair. She sat on a boulder with a thump, trying to stop laughing. He pursed his lips for moment, thinking.

"He's a pet, is he? He certainly has a mind of his own. He's certainly not like one of your dad's wolfhounds. Are you?" he asked, directing his gaze at the dragon. Toothless wrinkled his nose in disgust. Hiccup turned back to Merida with a triumphant smirk on his face. "Well, then?"

"Then why do you act like you own him?"

He looked down into Toothless' eyes for a long moment, and Merida could sense that _something_ was happening. Like they were reaching a mutual understanding. Or an agreement. She swore Toothless' eyes slid over to her once. Then, as soon as it had happened, it was over.

Hiccup straightened and pulled something long and leathery from behind a nearby boulder, which he slung onto his shoulder. He marched back to the dragon, buckles winking in the sunlight filtering through the green canopy ahead. "Come on, bud," he said with a smile that Merida suddenly didn't like. "Teach her to call you a pet again, won't we?" he said under his breath. Toothless jumped about, his tongue hanging out, his exuberant behavior exactly like one of her father's energetic wolfhound pups.

Hiccup rolled his eyes at his behavior and buckled the leather saddle in place. He fitted one boot into a stirrup and vaulted onto Toothless' back, checking that all the equipment was in working order. Then he looked down at Merida. "Come on, up here." He patted the saddle behind him. She stared up at him, her eyes wide with sudden fear.

"Here. Get on."

"What?!" She felt sick at the mere thought of flying.

"Get on." She eyed the dragon nervously. "What? Think he'll drop from under you?" he said in a deadpan voice.

She was slow to answer. "Nooooo. I just have a . . . thing . . . about, um." She cleared her throat uncomfortably as she examined Toothless' over-eager expression.

"You're afraid of heights, aren't you?"

"No!" Her voice was full of indignation. "I drank from the Fire Falls, which only the most fearless kings were able to do, since they had to climb a massive cliff. I am not afraid of heights."

"Then you won't be afraid to fly, would you?" He laughed and reached down to grab her hand. He dragged her up and she scrambled up the sun-warmed scales, smooth beneath her sweating palms, and gently lowered herself onto the saddle behind Hiccup. There was no way she could ride astride like she was supposed to, dressed as she was. So she pulled up her skirts around her knees and tucked it underneath her so it wouldn't blow any higher.

"Hang on," was all he said, gripping the saddle.

Then they were airborne. Toothless followed the thermals, launching high into the sky, until Berk was just a dizzy spot of green amidst all the shining blue of the ocean.

"I feel sick," she moaned, clutching at the back of his vest.

They soared across the sky. He had always loved flying, ever since he knew how to ride a dragon. The feeling of freedom, of almost nothing between him and the air below.

She drew in ragged breath and pressed her face to his back trying block out the sight of the ocean clouds whirling nauseatingly around her.

Then they were carving turns between the massive stone pillars of a natural land bridge somewhere on the other side of the island. Toothless gave the birds there a narrowed gaze. He had always had something against seagulls, but Hiccup had never really understood what that was.

Around them, the clouds were turning to gold and fire, wisps reaching out to touch the gold of the setting sun. The beauty of the upper air always took away his breath. It had always been his favorite time of day, but when he had started riding Toothless, seeing the sunset from the air had been worth everything. But Merida saw none of this, since she had a death grip around his waist, her face buried in his shoulder.

As Toothless descended into a steep dive, Merida shrieked, gripping Hiccup's waist tightly. Her mass of hair blew back, trailing through the air like living flames. Then they were corkscrewing vertically, down toward the ground.

"Ohhh, I really hate flying," she gasped. "Get me down!"

Toothless whipped around, his wings flaring out like razors, cutting through the air. The ground rushed toward them with alarming speed and Hiccup remembered his first flight without his cheat sheet.

Toothless finally dropped back down, his wings flaring out as he leapt down onto the ground of the cove, his tail swishing behind him. She sat there for a stunned minute, unable to pull her arms from around Hiccup's waist. Finally, he glanced over his shoulder at her with a pained expression. "You know, I would love to breathe. You can let go now."

She was still gasping. Then she pried her arms from around his waist and he sucked in a huge breath. Then she was tumbling off the dragon's back. Before he could jump down to see if she was all right, he saw her on all fours, kissing the ground. "Land! Oh, blessed land!"


	6. An Overheard Discussion

_I hope you all had a lovely break from school and homework! I did, except for the work my professors' loaded me down with. The instant I got back from break, it got busy,busy,busy. Anyway, I really appreciate all the support I'm getting for Great Expectations. I didn't think it would be all that great, but . . . I love you guys so much! *sniff* And (very) belated thanks to Momijifan Low-Ki and to one Guest for pointing out continuity flaws. As always, thanks for all the support and reviews! You know how much I love reviews! Enjoy :D_

* * *

She quickly stood, brushing dirt and grass from her skirt.

Hiccup crossed his arms over his chest and grinned at her. "The way you're acting, it's like you've never ridden an animal before."

"Not a _dragon_!" she spat. She glowered at him, her wild hair curling fiercely. "You had no right to do that!"

She grabbed the front of his tunic, her knuckles white. He cringed slightly, seeing her fist rise up out of the corner of his eye. He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the blow.

But it never came.

One eye popped open and he glanced at her. Her eyes had softened and she looked almost . . . unhappy. Not unhappy at him, but . . .

She dropped her fist and her anger faded, as fast as it had come. Her grip on his tunic loosened and her hand rested against his shoulder. She didn't seem to be able to look him in the eye.

"Thank you for not letting me fall." Then she was gone through the crack in the cove. He could hear her scuffling and cursing as she climbed.

* * *

After she had taken her unhappy leave from the cove, she returned to the village. She had not been able to hurt him. He was too . . . slight. Too fragile. Not just physically, but emotionally. Every time she looked at him when he thought he wasn't being watched, he had such a sad expression in his eyes. She sometimes wondered if it was because the Vikings would never accept the dragons, but . . . she knew it was something else. It was knowing that Berk would never love him. He had tried so hard to become one of the Vikings, but everyone knew that would never happen. She realized she would have hated herself if she _had_ hurt him. She knew she would be the one to protect him, since he was too weak to do anything more strenuous than riding his dragon all day, and—_scraaaaape_.

She paused in her walk and strained her ears. There it was again. A faint scraping sound, like wood rubbing against rock. It was no far from where she was, and she altered her course toward the sound.

There was a small boat tied to a rock, rising and lowering with each swell of the water, rubbing against the embankment. That was what had made the sound. She approached it silently, placing her feet carefully.

But there was no one there. Why was there a boat this far away from the village? It was odd, not to mention suspicious. She frowned as she inspected the bottom of the boat. Some rope, an oiled cloak, a locked box. Nothing that could identify the oarsman, unless there was something in the solid wood box.

But there was no one around that could have possibly used the boat. Unless they were still there, waiting in the bushes behind her, watching her every move. She shivered as she thought about that. And the longer she thought about it, the less she wanted to be there.

She turned and darted into the woods, back towards the village of Berk.

* * *

The living quarters they were occupying were attached to the Great Hall. She quietly pushed open the tall doors and slipped in, hoping her parents wouldn't discover her out this late.

As she passed through the hall, she heard her parents' subdued voices around the fire pit. She caught her name, and then Hiccup's. She pressed up against a pillar as close to where they were as she dared. Having three younger brothers who knew the ins and outs of eavesdropping, she was careful not to get caught. She strained her ears to catch what they were saying.

"—and I have my doubts." Fergus ran a hand over his face. "There's somethin' odd about that boy."

"Oh, Fergus, really? I do admit the boy's slightly eccentric, but . . . he seems like a good sort."

"Aye, a good sort of beanpole. He just doesn't . . . fit with the others, you ken. Not like that boy, um . . . Spitnought?"

Elinor rolled her eyes. "Not all the Northmen can be big brutes, Fergus. And he seems intelligent."

"Aye, he's intelligent enough, but a dragon would easily use him as a toothpick. He . . . he just doesn't _act_ normal. And when the dragon got loose. He wasn't afraid. I mean, this lad is afraid everything, including his own shadow, but against _dragons_?" He threw up his hands. "He said we didn't need to _kill them_. It's not natural, I tell you. There's something strange going on."

"He's been training for this his whole life," she said, biting off a thread and starting on another vine.

"But I _saw him_! As he was signing the peace treaty, he looked at me, and—" Fergus trailed off and rubbed his forehead. "It's like he _knows_ something. I am not a suspicious man, but . . . there's something goin' on that I don't like."

"You're bein' paranoid, Fergus. You always say you get these feelings, and yet you don't even believe in magic." She chuckled. Fergus tried biting back a frustrated retort. With a huge effort, he took a deep breath.

"I know what I _saw_, Elinor! The black dragon didn't even touch him, even though he claimed to have been injured by it! It's like . . . like he's defending the monster!"

"Maybe he just has a way with the beasts," Elinor said soothingly. Behind the pillar, Merida had to stifle a snort of laughter. _You have no idea!_ she thought derisively.

But Fergus was not to be soothed. "He's not . . . normal. How do we know he's not . . . I don't know! He could be doing any kind of dangerous thing. He leaves the village for hours at a time, even though the rest of the island has many dragons infesting it."

Elinor shook her head. "Oh, be serious, Fergus. You can't believe he would be a danger to Merida?! If anything, I'd be afraid of _her_ breaking _him_." Merida cringed. She reluctantly thought back to earlier in the day. "She's no spring-flower, ye ken. Not like them English princess."

Fergus shook his head, propping his chin on his fist. "I ken," he rumbled. Elinor slowly lowered her embroidery and looked at her husband. She found herself thinking how tired he looked. Too tired.

"You can't protect her forever, Fergus. She's goin' to get out in the world whether or not you'll let her. Marriage is just one more step out from under our gaze. Instead of her parents, she'll have her husband to look after her."

"_Will_ he? Elinor, I would wonder if you had eyes in your head if you weren't able to embroider that." He gestured at the cloth on her lap. She huffed, but he continued. "Have you seen him? He'd barely make a decent toothpick for one o' them dragons!"

"But he's getting taller," she argued. "In the two months of the engagement period, he's grown. I wouldn't be surprised if he became almost as tall as his father. But he's not the child you make him out to be. Neither of them is. He's nearing seventeen years, after all. And Merida's going to be the same in a few seasons."

"Ach! Next ye know, she'll be takin' my place at the Clan Councils."

"That's a long time away, Fergus," Elinor said sharply, her patience visibly wearing. Even she had a finite amount of patience.

"And the boy supposed to be the next chief of Berk! Could you believe that the people here would follow him?"

". . . Are you having second thoughts?" Elinor inquired delicately. "About the marriage?"

Pressed against a pillar, not far away, Merida stiffened. After all the preparation . . .? The treaty . . .? She could barely admit it to herself, but she had been almost looking forward to it.

Fergus shook his head. "No matter what I think, we can't just . . . cancel the treaty. The Vikings would turn on us without a second thought, as if we had betrayed them. The Viking attacks on our shores would get even worse." He scratched his beard. "No. We can't do that. Not the day before the handfasting. We're committed, for better or for worse."

Merida felt herself go cold.

The handfasting was _tomorrow_?! She had completely lost track of time while on Berk. She hadn't realized that it was happening so soon. But then, of course, she expected time to freeze while she spent time with Hiccup and Toothless. She had become close friends with the Viking boy, but . . . could she come to love him? After all, they would become husband and wife on the next morrow. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves and dragged her attention back to what her father was saying.

"-you know what she thinks of all . . ." He waved his hand around, vaguely encompassing Berk and everything on it, including the whole decision. ". . . this?"

Elinor hesitated, fingering the thread. "She's very . . . closed off. But, of course, this is a political union, and there's really not much for her to do against it. I understand this must all seem unfair to her. Even _I_ had reservations when I faced marriage." Fergus looked up sharply, but she plowed on. "But the necessity of this has been impressed through the years. She knows what is expected of her." She sighed and stabbed her needle through the fabric. Shaking her head, she continued embroidering. "Like you, Fergus, I wish I could protect her forever, but that is impossible."

Fergus looked into the fire pit, the flames dancing. "I wish I could," he said quietly, his words dropping unnoticed into the darkness.


	7. A Workroom Chat

_This is just a bit of fluff, but I already had it written before the accident, so . . . Here goes._

* * *

He just sat there in his room, staring down at his little book, which he had taken out and laid on his work table. He didn't even see the page in front of him, his charred stick flicking between his fingers as he thought.

He hadn't meant to scare her like that, but . . . she kind of deserved it. He still felt guilty about that, though. He hoped she wouldn't stay angry at him for long. She was, after all, his only close human friend. Without her, he was completely alone.

His door swung open with an alarming creak and his father ducked through, his helmet banging against the mantel. Hiccup jolted upright, panicking slightly. What was going to happen? Had he finally realized that Hiccup had lied about the story with the evil dragon? That he had cheated in Dragon Training during that horrible year? _Oh, gods_.

"Oh! Ah, Dad!" He quickly flipped the book close, hoping his dad hadn't seen what was in it. He dragged a few diagrams of new dragon saddle designs towards him, flipping over the top one to hide the ones beneath. "Whaaat are . . . what are _you_ doing . . . here?"

". . . Son, I wanted to talk to you before . . . before tomorrow." The handfasting. He had completely forgotten that it had been scheduled so soon. There was really nothing Hiccup was afraid of . . . now. After getting to know who he was going to marry in the first place, he was not really fearful. Pensive, maybe.

"The fate of our clans rests on you. You're the only son of the clan chieftain," he with a gesture at himself, "and the princess is the only _likely_ heir of her clan. The three younger brothers I've heard are, ah . . . um, not expected to take up the throne." Stoick scratched the back of his neck. "I've been speaking with her father and it was decided that your first child would retain the rights of B-"

"Whoa, whoa. Wait. Hold on. What? My first _child_? You're already selling off my firstborn?! That's . . . that's _years_ from now!" he spluttered, his arms flailing about. "I'm not even married yet, and you're planning on taking away any kids I _might_ have?!"

Stoick held up a ham-sized hand. "Now, don't get distressed-"

"Distressed?! Why would you . . . what in Odin's name are you even _thinking_?" He was way beyond distressed. "I'm a week from becoming seventeen! I mean, since you've already tried your best to turn me into . . . you, planned my wedding, and _bought_ me my bride, I suppose you might as well plan out the rest of my life as well!" He flung up his arms in defeat, slumping back into his chair.

Stoick gave him a stern look. "You will have do your duty, Hiccup. Berk needs a chieftain. You are the next in line, son, and must therefore take up the title when it comes to you. But if you are not there when Berk needs you, and become a part of Scotland, Berk will suffer, and your heir will need to take your place."

"Then why did you even marry me off to her?" Hiccup cried in frustration.

He didn't know why that had popped out of his mouth. He sounded like he should have been if he had never known her real personality. If the princess had not been Merida. "For all _you_ know, I could hate her." _I don't, though_, Hiccup added in his mind, mildly surprised at what was coming out of his mouth. _In fact, I probably like her more than I should._ "You could have just . . . just married me off to . . . to _Astrid_ or someone from Berk if you wanted to keep me on this gods-forsaken rock!"

True, he had had a crush on her at one point, but when Astrid started targeting him and beating him up in Dragon Training, he had quickly realized his error. Now, after he had escaped that net, he realized that he would have been miserable with such a domineering, forceful wife.

Stoick held up his hand to stop Hiccup's rant. "You know your mother was killed in a dragon attack." Stoick bowed his head for a moment, remembering dark times, then looked at his son. Hiccup blinked, wondering where this was going. His dad never really talked about his mom very much. Just painful, stilted passing references. "When we first met each other, it was at our handfasting ceremony."

Hiccup's eyes widened and his brows shot upward, lost under his uncut hair. "_What_? You only met her at your . . .How on Odin's green earth did you . . ." He trailed off in disbelief.

"It was an arranged marriage, like yours. But she was a Gaulish chieftain's daughter. We were called upon to do our duty and unite our clans. And we did." His fingers fumbled at the neck of his chain-mail tunic and pulled out a pendant on a leather thong. Hiccup leaned forward, interested despite himself.

"What is it?" He saw that the age-smoothed wood was carved with a sprawling tree, a stream circling its roots.

"A betrothal pendant. Ygdrassil, the Tree of Life. She gave it to me at our handfasting." The massive Viking took a deep breath. "I know that you barely know the Scottish lass, but we Vikings need this treaty much more than you would understand. Politics, ye know. But your mother and I, we grew to love each other." He gave Hiccup what he obviously thought was a reassuring smile. "Who knows? The princess might just be a very nice, engaging person." He pulled his helmet off and scratched his head. "You . . . you _do_ have a bridal gift, don't you?"

Hiccup felt lost. A bridal gift? He was supposed to have a _bridal gift_? What in Thor's name was he going to do about that? The handfasting was _tomorrow_! Where in Valhalla was he going to find a bridal gift?

His father understood the panicked look on Hiccup's face and sighed. Stoick slowly pulled the cord from around his neck and placed it over his son's head, the pendant resting against Hiccup's thin chest. He looked down at it, nonplussed.

"Um. Wow. Thanks, Dad. I, uh, well." He took a deep breath and held it, puffing out his cheeks. His eyes darted all over the workroom, resting on anything but his father. His fingers drummed nervously on the cover of his book. The room was filled with an awkward silence that he could practically feel breathing down the back of his neck. _Would it always be like this?_ Hiccup thought uncomfortably, mentally squirming at the picture that presented.

"I should, uh, probably get some, uh, rest," he said eventually. ". . . For tomorrow." His father nodded, obviously relieved about the change of subject.

"Right. Big day tomorrow, you know. Rest up." He rose, his massive shoulders filling the small space of Hiccup's workroom. "See you in the mornin', then." Then his father was gone and Hiccup could hear him stumbling through the forge below in the dark.

But there was no rest for him that night. He lay in his bed, staring up at the ceiling rafters. He knew his outburst earlier was just all the pent-up anxiety from the past three months, but . . . he still felt like all the anger and frustration was pointed at his dad. Not the Scottish chief, or his wife. Definitely not Merida. It was his dad who had agreed to this whole 'unite the clans together' plan, and it was all his fault for keeping things from his own son.

Hiccup groaned and slapped his thin pillow over his eyes.

What would it be like? Everything would change tomorrow. He would become a husband, eventually a father, and he would most likely never see Berk again.

He didn't know if the latter was a blessing or a curse. Never seeing Berk again. No more tough and tasteless food, no more tough and tasteless people. No more being the village outcast. _Everything_ would change.

And he knew, without a doubt, that she was worth it all.

On the eve of seventeen years, and married. Who would have thought?


	8. Of Weddings and Revenge

_FYI, I am not dead. ARGH! I HATE WRITER'S BLOCK! It is so hard trying to research ancient Scots Celtic and Nordic marriage customs AND blending them together. I just ended up using general elements for this chapter. _

_I know this chapter was kind of sketchy, and I definitely know I'll perfect it in the future(sometime), but for now . . . here's a long one for you all. That's how much I love you guys._

_But, in any case, it was so much fun to write. R&amp;R Enjoy!_

* * *

The next morning brought panic and chaos.

He had refused point blank to wear any of the horribly stuffy Viking regalia. He had had enough of it during the engagement period. He finally settled on a linen tunic, finer than anything else he had ever owned in his whole life. He recalled his father reminiscing about how he had stolen it off an English merchant a few years back, already intending it for his son, when he should marry. That, belted around the waist, and trousers tucked into sturdy boots. Hiccup felt his wardrobe was complete. But Stoick had other plans. When his father held up the horned helmet, Hiccup almost backpedalled.

"No! Why do I have to wear that?"

Stoick the Vast rubbed his forehead with one callused hand, and sighed. "We've been over this fifteen times. Hiccup, you _have to wear this_. You will look like a Viking on your wedding because you _are_ one."

"But I'm going to Scotland! When I marry her, I leave behind everything Viking!"

Stoick shoved the helmet onto his son's head and went to a chest standing near the bed. Hiccup pulled the helmet off his head, watching his father. Stoick flung open the lid and rummaged in the chest for some time, before pulling out a bundle wrapped in a grungy white cloth. He stood and saw the helmet off. He pulled it from Hiccup's yielding hands and held it up.

"Put this on."

"Can you not hear me?" Hiccup said in frustration.

"You will wear this." Stoick's voice was as firm and unyielding as his name.

"This decision is feeling very one-sided."

"When you wear this," Stoick said, thrusting the horned helmet onto Hiccup's head, "you are carrying all of Berk on your shoulders. You are a Viking through and through. It's finally time to show your true colors, son." What? The colors of a dragon-rider?

"What if I don't _have_ any colors?"

"Oh, you will! Don'tcha worry." As Stoick helped adjust the fur-lined cloak on his son's narrow shoulders, he kept up a continuous talk. "Gobber'll be the formal escort. Tradition, ye know. When you get there, you'll just stand at the brazier until Gothi comes in. Then everything's like how you've been taught. Keep that in mind, and you'll do fine. Maybe."

"And I'll actually remember everything. Probably."

Finally, his dad left him. Hiccup heard him thump down the stairs and out the front door. As Chief, he had to be the one to welcome both bride and bridegroom into the Great Hall for their handfasting. The only weird part was that _Hiccup_ was the one who was the groom.

When he was certain his dad was gone, he pulled off his helmet and set it on the bedpost. There was no chance he was ever going to wear that. His fingers went to the buckle of the bearskin cloak, but then he paused. It wouldn't do to offend both his dad _and_ his future father-in-law, since the cloak was a betrothal gift from the Scots.

Sighing, he left it how it was and headed toward the door.

Hiccup inched down the stairs, only to find Gobber waiting in the common room. He remembered his father saying something about Gobber being 'formal escort' as the closest 'friend' to the bridegroom. Gobber stared up at him, his bushy unibrow shooting skyward. "Thor's underpants, Hiccup! Are you trying that hard to get Stoick to kill you? There are easier ways to get out of marriage, believe me."

Hiccup looked at him sourly. "Oh, like I'm _trying_?"

"I'll be at your funeral," Gobber said, prodding him through the door. "Now go."

* * *

The same was happening with Merida.

"No! Why do I have to wear that?"

"Because it is your wedding!" Elinor said for the fifteenth time, exasperated beyond measure. "Now hold still!"

The dress she was forced into was yet another fine blue one. "What is it with blue?!" Merida finally cried, picking up her sword from where it sat on top of a chest. "I am absolutely, entirely _sick_ of blue!" She looked down at the blade and gave it an experimental swing. At least it wasn't silk. It felt more like linen, with a much more comfortable feel than the horrendous silk monstrosity she'd had to wear during the engagement. It wasn't as binding as that one, and this had a little more freedom of movement, but it was still uncomfortable.

"Blue is the traditional wedding color," her mother said pedantically as she straightened the skirts. A plaid in the DunBroch tartan was draped over her chest from the left shoulder and to the right hip. Her mother pinned a circular iron brooch bearing the crest of Clan DunBroch to her shoulder.

"If these barbarians even remember wedding gifts, you can use that. After all, we'll be takin' the lad into _our_ clan. Not the other way around."

Elinor stepped back to admire her handiwork. "You look absolutely beautiful." She caught her daughter's gaze and paused. ". . . I must say, you have been taking the marriage very well. You have acted just as you should, and even better." Elinor's eyes shone with pride. "You will make a fine queen, and a fine mother."

Merida nearly dropped her sword. She turned a shocked face toward the queen. "A mo . . . a _mother_? Mum! Are you serious? The handfasting hasn't even happened yet!"

"Of course," Elinor said with a roll of her eyes. "You are expected, not only by our clan, but by the Vikings of Berk to bear an heir for both."

Merida fumed.

She at Elinor with the sword. "You want me to become just like you. This whole marriage is what YOU want! Do you ever bother to ask what _I_ want? No! You walk around telling me what to do, what not to do! Trying to make me be like you! Well, I'm not going to _be_ like you!"

"Ach! You're acting like a child!" Elinor took a deep breath and faced her, her arms crossed over her chest. "Well? What do _you_ want, then?" she asked pointedly, her brows raised.

Merida deflated then, her anger fading as quickly as it had come. She sighed and rubbed her eyes. "I don't know," she quietly. "I'm sorry, mum. I'm just so tired and I'm nervous as a bag of cats."

The Queen gripped Merida by the shoulders and turned her daughter to face her. "As the heir of DunBroch, you hold the destinies of two clans. This ties us not only to the land, but with each other." She pushed Merida's shoulders back so she would stand up straight.

"To be a queen," she continued, "you must be everything you can be. You must act with grace, with kindness, and when the need arises, with courage and bravery. The time will come when we will need to reunite the clans again, and you will be the one to bring them together." She smoothed a hand over Merida's hair in a rare gesture of affection. Then she frowned, her fingers tugging at a strand of Merida's hair.

"Sit." Merida saw a short stool standing near the fire pit in the room and pulled it closer to the open window, in a pool of golden summer light. Elinor turned to the chest by her bed and pulled from it a comb and set to yanking it none-too-gently through Merida's wild hair. "Honestly," she muttered, "Don't you ever brush your hair?" Merida gritted her teeth and gripped the sides of the stool. "Both _you_ and that _boy_! Your hair is just . . .!" She huffed and Merida repressed a shriek as her mother tore through another tangle. Then the pain lessened and Merida slowly slouched back into place.

"Do you . . . I mean, do you _like_ him?" she asked nervously.

The comb stilled and Merida could feel her mother's hesitation, as if wondering how much she could say. "I . . . well, I admire the boy." The comb resumed its movements, less harshly this time, as if her mother was preoccupied. "He's a smart lad, not at all bad lookin'. In fact, he could grow to be quite handsome." She sighed. "I hope you're happy with him, Merida." She hoped so too. And yet . . .

"Do you think I will be?" she asked, almost dreading the answer. Elinor's hand was soft on her hair.

". . . I hope so, sweetheart. I hope so." Merida knew that she would never get a straight answer out of her mother when she was like that. So she sat back, trying not to cringe as the comb worked mercilessly through her tangled mane.

Her hair was braided tightly and the ever-present wimple was wrestled into place. Elinor checked to make sure no stray strands of hair were visible.

"Why do I even have to wear this . . . this unspeakable thing?"

Merida rebelliously tugged a strand of hair out of her wimple. She had been doing that for such a long time that she was no longer irritated when her mother pushed it back under.

"Because you must look like the princess you are, not some hoyden we just decided to pick up in one of the villages on the way to Berk." Merida groaned and ran a hand down her face.

"Oh, Mum," she said, her voice pleading. "Please. I can't wear this." _How would he recognize me as the one who he _really_ knows, and not the princess you want me to be?_ But she didn't say anything out loud, already sorry for her outburst earlier.

"You look beautiful, Merida," Elinor said quietly, a smile softening her harsh features. Merida tried returning it, but she was preoccupied with the dress's lack of room. "Even if that boy doesn't love you, he will once he sees you. I know he will." She pressed a kiss to her daughter's forehead.

When her mother finally left to make sure the Vikings had readied the Great Hall for the handfasting, Merida quickly undid the wimple, her hair spilling everywhere, as if glad to be out of the fabric's bondage.

She went to the partially open window and peered out and down. She found what she wanted clinging to the walls, the vines creeping in around the sill.

* * *

Hiccup stood at the center of the Great Hall. King Fergus and Stoick the Vast, chieftains of their clans, stood side by side. They looked alike enough to be brothers, massive and red-haired, though Fergus had touches of grey at his temples and Stoick's was slightly darker.

There was a murmur in the crowd and Hiccup turned to see one large door was being pushed open. She was standing at the door of the Great Hall, silhouetted against the blazing mid-day sun outside. Gothi walked ahead of her, the elderwoman leaning heavily on her staff. Most of the bets in Berk were on her lasting less than five winters.

The elderwoman passed by him and stood beside the two chieftains in the center of the hall, a satisfied smile on her withered face. But Hiccup had eyes for only one person.

He was surprised that she wasn't wearing a wimple, since her mother had made her wear one every time they were in public. Her hair was everywhere, in wild, curling tendrils winding around the wildflowers in her hair. That dragon-fire hair. He felt like his stomach had decided to lodge in his throat and he did his best to keep from choking.

She came to stand beside him, her eyes fixed on the Viking elderwoman. Not once did she glance in his direction. In a way, he glad that she was ignoring him. He was already nervous without her eyes on him.

In the tradition of the Vikings of Berk, he had to recite the ancestors of both bride and groom up to seven generations, and the pledges that were made to his people and the people he was marrying into. The oath was long and dull, something he had agonized over during the months of their engagement. Things would have gotten painfully awkward if he had forgotten the pledge to both people and bride.

Finally stumbling over the last words, he looked to Gothi, surprised that he had even remembered that much. She gave him a barely noticeable nod of approval. The elderwoman reached into the fire pit before her and rubbed ash over her fingertips. She tugged him down to his knees so he was level with her, and marked his forehead with the ash. Then she did the same to Merida. Hiccup saw that the symbol looked like a cross with a circle around the crossbars. Then she stepped back.

Not knowing what else to do, he pulled the pendant from around his neck and, after a nod from Gothi, placed it around the princess's. The smooth wood gleamed in the candlelight. She glanced down at it, her lips twitching in what might have been a smirk.

But then she removed the pin from her shoulder and pinned it to his cloak, her hands shaking slightly. She bit her bottom lip and concentrated on pinning it, and not her finger. It wouldn't have gone well if she had gotten blood on his tunic.

Then Gothi indicated for them to hold each other's hands over the brazier. The smoke was to supposedly purify their marriage vows to each other, so neither could lie to other and the two would be bound together on unity and virtue.

As the withered old woman announced the fulfilled pledges to the gathered Vikings and Scotsmen that united the two in marriage, the massive doors of the Great Hall slammed open and everyone spun around to see two Viking warriors and one Scottish clansman standing in the block of sunlight. There was something between them, sagging to the ground and dragging a little.

"M'laird!" the Scotsman shouted. Fergus stepped forward, a crease slashing between his brows. The two Vikings helped him with the burden as they moved across the flagstones. It was something large, wrapped in one of the rough sacks fishermen used to haul their fish in so they wouldn't tear their nets. They dropped it at the foot of the dais, ignoring the fact that they were crashing a wedding. Stoick and Fergus both stepped forward, their eyes fixed on the bag, which was starting to wriggle.

"We found this spy lurking around the docks," one of the Viking guards spat, kicking the burden. It groaned. The Scotsman pulled out a long dagger from his belt and held it up.

"He had this on him. Obviously too fine for everyday tasks, so I wondered what he was doin' with such a fine article." He tossed it to Fergus, who examined it.

"The make ain't familiar," he said, passing it to Stoick. While he examined it, the second Viking guard bent and pulled off the homespun sack.

A man was curled up on the cold stone, blood dried around his nose and several nasty-looking bruises starting to appear on his face. He was cradling his mangled fingers on one hand. His mass of wild dark hair hung in his face, concealing his eyes. But when he shifted, he glanced up at the people standing around him. The instant his eyes fastened on Stoick, his eyes dilated with recognition. He scrabbled at his belt, but Stoick held up the dagger. "Lookin' for _this_?"

The man lunged at the Viking, his hands clawing for his face, but Stoick snatched his wrist and used his momentum against him, slamming him into the flagstones of the Hall.

Stoick bent down, his massive fist closing around the man's tunic and hoisting him into the air. "I know this son of a scum-eatin' half-troll," Stoick growled, shaking the man like a puppy. "He is Osric, nephew of a Gallic chieftain." He turned his head to the side and spat in disgust.

"We'll find out later why this maggot invited himself to a wedding that he was not welcome to." Stoick tossed him to the ground, where the Gaul groaned and tried lifting himself up on his arms. "Take him away. And put him in one of the empty cells in the Training Pit."

Before the guards could take him away, the Gaul slowly pushed himself up onto his arms. "I must say, congratulations," Osric rasped, spitting out a gob of blood onto the flagstones. "It's not too often you have a bloodless celebration on Berk." He wiped at the trickle of blood from his chin, smearing it over his face.

Stoic's face darkened and Hiccup was afraid his father was about to lash out again, but the chief held in his anger and he simply turned his back.

The two Viking guards hauled Osric upright none-too-gently, making him moan at the pain of his injuries. When they had dragged the Gaul out, Stoick turned back to a surprised Hiccup and Merida, whose hands were still entwined. "Let the feasts commence!" he shouted. "Open the casks of mead! Let's drink to their health!"

Hiccup looked at his father's retreating back. Why had the Gallic warrior reacted with such fear when he saw Stoick? Hiccup remembered that his mother had been a Gaul also, and he wondered if it had anything to do with that.

Merida gripped his hands, smiling tensely at his hardened expression. Of course, she would know nothing of this. He shook his head and smiled tightly. "I was just thinking of something my dad told me a little while ago."

The anxious expression melted from her expression and she looped her hands through his arm.


End file.
